The plague
by Arianka
Summary: A little problem on Baker Street during a "boring" time. Friendship :


****Another translation of my story. It was inspired by a problem my Grandma had when I was little. It's just a funny one-shot. Enjoy :) And please let me know if I made mistakes.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own characters and I don't make any profit from writing.

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**The plague**

John came home with a bag of groceries and went straight to the kitchen. They were having 'a boring time' again, so God knew what he could find there. Surprisingly, Sherlock's laboratory equipment took only half of the table, so John had some place to put his shopping. Still, he watched the table closely first. Good habit of a person, whose flatmate could place his plate with a sandwich next to chemical reagents. John had quickly learned that if he wanted to be alive, it would be better to check the cleanness of the dishes every time he was using them.

To his pleasant surprise, there was nothing unexpected in the refrigerator either. Since a head looked at him from inside, John got used to the body parts placed next to cheese and they made no impression on him anymore. Nevertheless, it was nice to open the fridge and see nothing except food.

Something ran through the table. John frowned with a can of tomatoes in one hand, and then struck the table with the other. He leaned over the smashed insect and cursed.

An ant.

He knew, he just _knew _that sooner or later the whole mess in the kitchen would attract such little friends that would take care of it. Having a choice between human remains in the fridge or ants everywhere, he definitely preferred the first option. John rushed to hide the rest of the shopping, putting as much as he could into the fridge, and then looked around. One, two, three... Shit. John grabbed an old newspaper and killed every ant he saw.

"Sherlock?" he called. "We have ants."

„Brilliant deduction," he heard a reply from the living room and only then did he realize, that similar, regular smack sounds came from there. A bit anxious, John took his newspaper and carefully went to the living room.

Well, what he saw certainly wasn't _boring._ At the table next to the sofa stood a big aquarium (chipped), half filled with the ground. On the top of it was lying something that looked like human fingers. The cover wasn't on its place and this alone should have alarmed John. As should Sherlock, armed with a newspaper, tossing around and smashing everything that was moving. And, John had to admit it, _everything_ was moving.

"Sherlock, what the hell does it mean?"

"They sprawled," replied the detective freely and killed another ant.

"I can see so far," growled John, trampling a few insects at one time with his foot. "What are these ants doing here?"

Sherlock murmured something that sounded suspiciously similar to 'experiment'. John rolled his eyes and came closer to the table. He was right, there were indeed two human fingers inside. There were also a lot of ants walking on them, so John put the cover back on its place and sealed with an adhesive type the chipped part the best he could.

"Alright, so what are these ants doing in our living room?" he asked again.

"I wanted to see how quickly they are able to clean the bones from meat," answered Sherlock as if it was obvious. "Be careful, they bite."

"You gave them your own fingers?" John raised his eyebrows, seeing the red marks on his flatmate's hands.

"No, it was an accident," snorted the detective. "I was busy with something else and..."

John bit his lip not to laugh. Knowing Sherlock, he, being 'busy with something else', forgot about the whole world around him and went over the table like he usually did. And, this time, over the aquarium too. This would at least explain what the ants were doing in the chipped aquarium. Because John didn't really want to know where Sherlock took them from.

"Well, good luck."

"What?"

"You will have to exterminate them now," John pointed out, though he knew that he would break sooner or later and help to get rid of the ants as soon as possible. "Start cleaning here, I will find some insecticides," he suggested and looked meaningfully at the papers on the desk. John didn't check what was under the desk, he preferred being innocently unaware.

"Cleaning?" Sherlock winced in a funny way. „Dull."

"You could do your experiment outside, not bring it here," retorted John. "Mrs. Hudson will be terrified when she finds out."

Sherlock's phone on the sofa rang suddenly. The detective threw his newspaper on the floor to answer, but John was nearer. He picked up, seeing Lestrade's number, before Sherlock had a chance to take his phone.

"Hi, Greg," John greeted him. "What? No, sorry, not today," he said sweetly. Sherlock looked as if he had just cancelled Christmas. "Sorry, we have a little plague in here."

"John..."

"Not this time," John put Sherlock's phone into his pocket and then smiled comfortingly. "Don't worry, you will certainly have a blog note about this _case._"

The end


End file.
